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IN MEMORIAM. 



DEA. WALTER COLTON. 

GEORGIA, VERMONT. 



FOR THE FAMILY, 
BY A{ M. AND G. Q. COLTON. 



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IX MEMORIAL 



DEACOX WALTER COLTOX^. 

Deacon Walter Coltox, son of Dea- 
con Aaron Colton, was born in Long- 
meadow, Mass., August 25, 1764, and 
was baptized in the church at that place 
on the next day, in accordance with the 
custom of those times. He was a lineal 
descendant from George Colton, who 
came to this country from Sutton, Eng- 
land, about the middle of the seventeenth 
century, and settled in that part of Spring- 
field, Mass., which, by act of the general 
court, was subsequently set off to be the 
town of Longmeadow. The name of 



4 IN MEMORTAM. 

George Colton has honorable mention in 
the Springfield records as early as 1G64. 
His autograph, in a list of grand jurymen 
for that year, is still preserved. 

Walter's father. Aaron, was chosen to 
the office of deacon at the breaking out 
of the Revolutionary war. The coun- 
try's call and the church's call pressed 
simultaneously. He told the church that 
he could not then accept the office, with 
such perils of war "before him. The 
church by vote acceded to his sugges- 
tion, and made his acceptance contingent 
upon his safe return. Upon his coming 
back, at the close of the war. the solici- 
tation was renewed : he accepted the 
office, and continued in it till his death. 

Walter, the subject of this sketch, was 
the youngest of eight children. At the 
early age of thirteen, he lost his father. 
and was committed to the care of his 
eldest brother. He was soon given to 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 5 

understand that thenceforth he must shift 

for himself, and that the old homestead — 
dear to him by what ties ! — was not any 
longer to be his home as it had been. 
Coming as this did from his eldest broth- 
er, and in a somewhat harsh tone and 
manner, it made a strong and lasting im- 
pression on Walter's sensitive nature. 
It did not make him angry, but it grieved 
him sorely. He carried no malice from 
it ; but the memory of it, vivid and fresh, 
was in him till his dying day. At the 
great age of ninety-six, he related the 

circumstances to his daughter H , 

adding in his own impressive way, "I 
think it was very wrong.' 7 Walter went 
from home a mere boy, virtuous, diffi- 
dent, sensitive, with a fair common-school 
education for those times and for one of 
his years ; not to struggle for riches, for 
these were never in his dreams, but to 
run his chances for a living, amid the 



6 IN MEMOIilAM. 

conflicts and cold-hearted selfishness of 
the world. I have not at hand the mem- 
oranda from which to trace minutely the 
history of those early years. He has 
more than once told me the story in 
brief. He loved to trace with mind and 
tongue the good way of the Lord toward 
him; and he found the duty to do so in 
the first eight verses of the seventy-eighth 
psalm. 

His summers were spent in manual 
labor, here and there, as opportunities 
occurred, and on stinted remuneration. 
His little stock of knowledge was in- 
creased year by year. u Through desire 
he sought and intermeddled with all wis- 
dom/ 7 He had an aptitude for acquir- 
ing knowledge and for retaining it, and 
as the event showed, for imparting it. 
In no long time he was sought and ap- 
proved for service, in teaching a common 
school. Reading and spelling, arithme- 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 7 

tic and English grammar — these, which 
are foundations, he had mastered with 
commendable thoroughness. He wrote 
an excellent hand. These labors were 
aided, more or less, by his love for music, 
and his proficiency in its science and 
art. I am not able to say how early his 
musical talents were made available as 
an aid in teaching. I can well believe 
that the day-school and the evening sing- 
ing-school were wedded early, and that 
there were both while there was either. 
Of music he was passionately fond, and, 
not unlikely, the singing part had to him 
a charm potent enough to lighten many 
a burden of toil and care. These labors, 
with more or less time devoted to his 
trade, that of cloth weaver, which in 
after life he relied on as a means of sup- 
port, employed his years from thirteen 
to twenty-four, when he came to Rut- 
land, Vt., in expectation of more remu- 



8 IN MEMOEIAM. 

nerative employment than had offered 
itself to him in his native Connecticut 
River Yalley. But disappointment await- 
ed him here. The promises made to him 
were not fulfilled. The first two years 
in his new home were years of hardship 
and suffering. The country was new, 
and the climate was cold ; or, as his son 
Walter said of it in 1835, "fit only for 
bears and badgers. 77 He got little idea, 
except from the Bible, about "soft clo- 
thing' 7 and "kings' houses. 77 He had 
but the scantiest apology of a wardrobe — 
a something to invite rather than defy 
"the windy storm and tempest. 77 He 
was far from home and friends, and his 
employment was of a nature exposing 
him to the severity of the cold. I have 
often heard my father rehearse with 
. emotion the scenes and sufferings in this 
trying period of his life. These severe 
experiences were, doubtless, in the issue, 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 9 

profitable to him, leading him the more 
earnestly to seek for himself a better 
and an enduring substance. They served 
to impress on him that unworldly cast of 
thought and feeling which characterized 
him in after life. 

I have not by me the precise date of 
my father's marriage. He was married 
to Thankful Cobb, daughter of the then 
late Lieutenant Cobb, of Bennington, Yt., 
who fell by the side of General Richard 
Montgomery before the walls of Quebec, 
December 31, 1775. In the volume 
entitled, "The Cushman Memorial." her 
name is found as a lineal descendant 
from Rev. Robert Cushman of the ear- 
liest Plymouth Pilgrims.. A little less 
than a year after the first landing, Mr. 
Cushman preached, December 12, 1621, 
a sermon "On the Sin and Danger of 
Self-love. " It was preached in what was 
called the "common house" of the little 



10 IN MEMOKIAM. 

colony. It was the first sermon ever 
printed in America. It has since been 
republished. Mr. Cushmairs monument, 
a granite column, stands eminent and 
chief among the memorials erected on 
"Burial Hill/ 7 Plymouth. 

The bridal tour of the newly married 
pair was characteristic of those times. 
No railroads as now ; no wagon roads, 
and no wagons tolerable to mortals hav- 
ing flesh and blood. But the party were 
intent on visiting her uncle, Frederick 
Oushman, in Georgia, Yt. — name for a 
place that w^as to be — nearly ninety 
miles on horseback ! It would have 
jolted the life out of them, had they 
attained to our ease and effeminacy. 
Rutland to Georgia, a ride of four hours 
by rail in these times ; but then it was a 
journey, on horseback all the way. But 
the tour was made without complaints 
and without suffering ; they had learned 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 11 

to endure hardness. May their descend- 
ants retain a tithe of that power of par- 
pose to do and bear. 

This visit, not unlikely, had its influ- 
ence in determining them to make Geor- 
gia their future home. To this place, in 
Franklin county. Northwestern Vermont, 
they came in 1798. with their thr.ee 
small children. Walter being the infant. 
Here a numerous family, eleven children, 
grew up around them. The country was 
new and but sparsely settled, and these 
new-comers had the common experiences 
of pioneers. How such a family, in those 
circumstances, with the limited means 
and stinted earnings of the father toil- 
ing at a hand-loom, were housed, fed. 
clothed, and schooled, is a mystery and 
a marvel. The few inhabitants were far 
from being rich, or what would now be 
regarded as in comfortable circnmstanc 
Their dwellings were rude, their families 



12 IN MEMOKIAM. 

large, and their means very limited. 
Where there was a disposition to lend a 
helping hand, that hand was weak and 
nearly empty. With such a family of 
children, most of them young, my father 
found it very difficult to obtain the neces- 
saries of life. But they got along, or 
were carried along, with privations in- 
deed, but with patience and cheerfulness ; 
they all, parents and children, having 
sound health, and a mind to work, and 
blessed ignorance of luxuries and prodi- 
gality. ''But the centurion, willing to 
save Paul, kept them from their purpose, 
and commanded that they which could 
swim, should cast themselves first into 
the sea, and get to land. And the rest, 
some on boards, and some on broken 
pieces of the ship: and so it came to 
pass that they escaped all safe to land." 
In the family history there were pe- 
culiar exigencies, when the wolf Hunger 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 13 

must have verily seemed to be prowling 
round the door. To one of those sea- 
sons, during the war of 1812. my father 
was wont to refer with special thankful- 
ness. In the year 1821, the whole fam- 
ily were together for the last time. The 
visit had been exceedingly pleasant. The 
hour of separation came, all too soon. 
Our minister, Mr. Dorman, was present. 
TTe were all seated in the north room, 
and were about to kneel in prayer. Fa- 
ther remarked that, before the prayer 
and parting, he wished to say a word or 
two respecting the good hand of our God 
upon us as a family. He then glanced 
at a few things in our family history, 
showing how kindly our heavenly Father 
had cared for us all along — what season- 
able helps we had received, what deliv- 
erances had been sent us from unexpected 
quarters. ; * TTe have," said he, "seen 
times of great straitness. Using up one 



14 IN MEMOItlAM. 

bushel of grain, we were in doubt where 
the next could come from. But some- 
how, as the Lord would have it, when 
that bushel was spent' 7 — and here his 
utterance choked, and his whole frame 
shook under the power of his emotions ; 
but he soon recovered, and added, "but 
somehow, when that was gone, another 
came, and we were wonderfully provided 
for, and made glad/ ? 

And here, anticipating a little the 
religious account of him, I may refer to 
the fact, well known to those who well 
knew him, that a leading trait in my 
father's piety was his gratitude to God. 
You saw this in his conversation and in 
his prayers. It was the air and incense 
about him. He seemed to have at all 
times a sweet and glad sense of God's 
goodness. It was his great theme, and 
he dwelt upon it, and never seemed to 
grow weary of it. I have been greatly 



DEACON WALTEB COLTON. 15 

struck with this feature. On one occa- 
sion, with an interest perhaps more curi- 
ous than devout. I counted the number 
of times in which he used the word 
"mercy" or "mercies " in a single prayer. 
I was not surprised to find the number to 
be eleven. This sense of God as good. 
gave to his piety, what it should ever 
have, a sunny and cheerful cast. I never 
saw my father wear a sad face one whole 
day in my life. I was with him when, in 
August. 1849, the heavy tidings came 

that his son C . a Benjamin in the 

family, had died suddenly at his home in 
the city of Xew York. TTe had been look- 
ing for that son and brother by that morn- 
ing's mail-coach. The stroke was terribly 
sudden and severe to us all. Father felt 
it deeply: but he said before night of 
that same day. "I shall not be greatly 
moved :'" and he was not. though no man 
had keener or tenderer sensibilities than 



16 IN MEMOKIAM. 

he. or loved his children with a Stronger 

and purer affection. 

From his earliest years, my father had 
been notedly of thoughtful and serious 
mind. The Bible was his daily study. 
and his thoughts were much engrossed 
with its transcendent themes. But it was 
not till the age of thirty-five that he 
made a public profession of religion. He 
then united with .the Congregational 
church in Georgia, became one of its 
main pillars, and for more than half a 
century one of its deacons. He used 
the office of deacon well, and purchased 
to himself a good degree and great bold- 
ness in the faith which is in Christ Jesus. 
" Good old Deacon Colton" was the affec- 
tionate title by which he was familiarly 
spoken of in his later years. When in- 
firmities were increasing upon him. he 
asked to be released from the office. The 
church unanimously refused this request, 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 17 

but voted instead to release liiin from 
the more active duties. 

His early religious experience was 
somewhat peculiar. He was unconscious 
of any sudden and strong convictions. 
He had not, in beginning to hope, the 
transports of joy of which some speak ; 
it was rather a calm peace, the still, deep 
stream. There was darkness for a time, 
but the morning came. He was at one 
time tempted with skeptical doubts, and 
betook himself anew to God's word to 
confirm those doubts. But the result was 
just the opposite of his intention ; and he 
now found, by a surprising experience, 
what he had many times read before, 
that " the testimony of the Lord is sure, 
making wise the simple." A sense of 
the Divine goodness and of his own un- 
worthiness, and the claims of God upon 
him, was by various nurture ripened 
into Christian strength and steadfastness. 



18 IN MEMORIAL. 

With such an experience, it is no won- 
der that for a time he looked with mis- 
givings upon sudden awakenings and con- 
versions. But he soon became convinced 
that "there are diversities of operations, 
but it is the same God which worketh all 
in all f and so charity became to him a 
bond of perfectness. He loved revivals, 
and prayed for them, and labored in 
them. They were to him a great joy, a 
feast of fat things. His pastor, Rev. 
Gr. TT. Ranslow, says of him, that "on 
such occasions his counsels and prayers 
were exceedingly valuable. It might be 
said of him that his face shone with heav- 
enly grace ; yet he knew it not. On one 
occasion of peculiar interest, he said, 
after a night, much of which, as I after- 
wards learned, he had spent in prayer 
for the effusion of the Holy Spirit, "the 
blessing was let down so low, I believe 
I have got hold of it." He was never 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 19 

sanguine of his gracious state, and often 
made the inquiry, "What have I ever 
done, which a hypocrite could not do V 

This last remark by his pastor I can 
qualify. There were indeed this humil- 
ity and sense of unworthiness ; but I can 
well remember my father's saying to me, 
toward the close of his life, that he felt 
sure he had trusted, and was now trust- 
ing in Christ ; that he sometimes had a 
fear lest his faith might fail him in the 
act and moment of dying ; but that, in 
reference to any thing leyoncl death, he 
had no misa'iyimrs, not the slightest in 
the world. 

If Deacon Coiton had any particular 
failings — and who has them not? — they 
must be looked for in the direction of his 
unworldliness, and his want of economi- 
cal enterprise and thrift, But it should 
be remembered that he was a firm be- 
liever in God's good providence. lie 



20 IN MEMORIAL. 

employed such, means as were placed 
within his reach, and then left the event, 
without anxieties or questionings, to Him 
who fed Elijah by ravens at the brook. 
Tradition has handed down authentic 
anecdotes, illustrating the firm step with 
which he walked along the very brink of 
extreme want, nothing doubting that the 
kind Hand which had provided, would 
not be wanting to him and his. At an 
early day it was customary with the 
church in Georgia for a few of the breth- 
ren and sisters, with their pastor, to meet 
for prayer and mutual edification, and 
in a kind and Christian spirit to tell each 
other their faults, it being agreed on all 
hands that great plainness of speech 
should be allowed, and no offence taken. 
At one of these meetings, the pastor 
said, "There is Deacon Colton: I have 
sometimes thought he is not as provident 
as it would be well for him to be — not 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 21 

quite as careful to lay up something 
against a rainy clay. ;? The deacon, with 
great moderation, replied, "Well, as to 
what our pastor says respecting me, per- 
haps it is true ; very likely it is. And 
now. since we are in this free strain, our 
pastor will not take it amiss from me, if 
I say I think Ms failing, if he have any, 
lies in just the opposite direction ; and 
that he is a little too careful about laying 
up for the future. And on the whole, I 
think, if we could strike the medium be- 
tween us two, allowing half B and half 

Colton, it would perhaps be about right." 
My father was, I think, in an eminent 
degree, an unworldly man. He often 
repeated a saying of John Elliott. "I 
have made up my mind not to look for 
any great things from this world." He 
had all along such a clear and vivid real- 
ization of heavenly things, and of his title 
to them through grace, as made him com- 



22 IN MEMORIAM. 

paratively indifferent to the things of 
time. He walked by faith. His conver- 
sation was in heaven. What the Bible 
says about the heavenly world he re- 
ceived as true, and he rested on that 
word with a simple and hearty trust 
which was rare and wonderful. "Kot 
having received the promises, but hav- 
ing seen them afar off, he was persuaded 
of them, and embraced them, and con- 
fessed that he was a stranger and a pil- 
grim on the earth. 77 I rememberjiis say- 
ing, on one occasion, that to him there 
was great sweetness in the apostle's ex- 
pression, "that through patience and 
comfort of the Scriptures, we might have 
hope. 77 

Deacon Colton had great equability 
of mind — if not by nature, by a thor- 
ough self-discipline. Seldom if ever was 
'he seen in a passion, or in any great 
mental excitement. Under a strong 



DEACON WALTEB COLTOX. 23 

provocation, instead of betraying any 
turbulent emotions, lie would say. "I am 
exercised/" I have no recollection of 
having ever once seen him agitated with 
feelings of anger or resentment. He 
"put off all these." if indeed they over- 
came nigh him. The flint did not hold 
fire, and there was not much of any such 
hardness about him. He knew how to 
give the soft answer which " turneth 
away wrath." He well understood the 
proverb, "A fool uttereth all his mind: 
but a wise man keepeth it in till after- 
ward/'' When all around him was tem- 
pest of passion, he was calm and self- 
collected. He had naturally the quick- 
est and keenest sensibilities ; but he had 
self-control, and thus moderation. 

He was not only ''slow to wrath." but 
also, in the best sense, "slow to speak," 
His words were well chosen and few. and 
were uttered with a deliberate impres- 



24 IN MEMORIAM. 

siveness seldom equalled. He had a 
voice of rare smoothness and sweetness. 
He had a keen ear for discrimination of 
sounds, not in music only, but in speech 
as well. His modulations and cadences, 
in speaking and reading, were well-nigh 
perfect. He insisted that a fine cadence 
is a positive beauty and power. I well 
remember his criticisms, on one occasion, 
upon my own manner of closing the Lord's 
Prayer — how appreciative and judicious 
they were. His outward ear and his 
inner ear caught the most delicate shades 
of tone. It was in his nature, and it was 
a result of careful cultivation. In his 
later years, and, if I mistake not, through 
most of his life, he did much of his think- 
ing by help of his voice. Hence his 
mastery in the expressive faculty. The 
most marked feature in his speech was 
its brevity, unless I should except the 
singular precision with which he hit just 



I 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 25 

the idea lie wished to convey. You 

never had to ask him to repeat a remark, 
that you might better understand it. 
He went straight to the point, and set it 
in sunlight. What he could not make 
clear, he would not essay. He under- 
stood that "a straight line is the shortest 
distance between two points.'' One who 
knew him well, testifies of him, that 
" whenever he spoke, whether in church 
meeting or in the mixed assembly, he 
showed a wonderful talent of compres- 
sion — of saving much in fewest words, 
and of stopping at the right point, which 
he soon reached." No man ever heard 
him "spin out." "Long yarns 7 ' may 
have belonged to his toils, but never 
to his speech. He was frank-spoken ; a 
plain man, and spoke right on; "an Is- 
raelite indeed, in whom there was no 
guile." 

In his religious habits, Deacon Colton 



26 IN MEMORIAM. 

was a pattern of order. Certain hours 
of every day were set apart for reading 
the Scriptures, and for private meditation 
and prayer. These duties were scrupu- 
lously attended to, whatever else might 
be neglected. He often quoted the say- 
ing of another, " Crowd not religion into 
a corner of the day.' 7 To the end of his 
life he was noted for system and careful- 
ness — could always lay his hand upon 
his spectacles without search or inquiry. 
He insisted on a strict and orderly obser- 
vance of the Sabbath, and in this he led 
the way. Puritan by a long line of 
pious ancestry, and by his own early nur- 
ture, he followed in the footsteps of his 
fathers. He did not regard the fourth 
commandment as an elastic, to be stretch- 
ed indefinitely. He began his Sabbaths 
right early. Before sunset of Saturday 
his work was laid aside, and his Bible 
was taken up. There must be a prep- 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 27 

aration of the heart, and the Saturday 
evening sunset found him already in the 
devout frame. And in this he com- 
manded his household after him. They 
were not allowed on the Sabbath to min- 
gle with others, nor to stroll along in 
going to the sanctuary or in returning 
from it. His children, when young, 
walked with him to the house of G-od in 
company, the daughters at his right hand, 
and the sons at his left. 

The excellence for which Deacon Col- 
ton was most known and noted, was his 
knowledge of the Bible. In this respect 
he was a wonder. I have never met 
with his equal. I could never "set 7? 
him. Having occasion to write sermons 
at his home, and not having my Cruden 
by me, I took father for my concordance, 
and he never failed me. Hundreds of 
times I have asked him where such or 
such a verse, or clause, or expression 



28 IN MEMOKIAM 

was to be found, and ho always, without 
an instance of failure, gave promptly the 
needed information ; naming not the ex- 
act book and chapter only, but often also 
the very verse. Sometimes he would 
use a topical memory ; thus, " Take Good- 
wins Hartford edition of the Bible, and 
turn to the forty-fourth chapter of Isaiah, 
and on the left-hand column, about two- 
thirds of the way towards the bottom, 
you will find it." And there it was. 
You were certain of having the right 
answer, and that right early. I have 
many times sought out clauses or phrases 
for the purpose of " setting" him. but I 
never succeeded in doing it. These 
great attainments in Scripture knowledge 
were a thing not hid in a corner. He 
was widely known for it. I have re- 
ceived letters from superintendents of 
Sabbath-schools in Boston, Albany, and 
other places, asking for information re- 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 29 

specting his Bible knowledge ; how he 
acquired it ; when he began ; how much 
he could repeat, etc. ; such information 
being intended for the benefit of Sab- 
bath-schools. I know not how many let- 
ters of this kind I liaye been called to 
answer. This fame of him was not with- 
out its measure of annoyance to him in 
his declining years, subjecting him as it 
did to frequent visits from strangers, and 
to requests for his autograph. How my 
father attained to this great knowledge of 
the Bible, is a question it might be diffi- 
cult fully to answer. He had, by en- 
dowment of nature, a wonderful memory, 
remarkable for its acquisitiveness and for 
its retentiyeness. He cultiyated this 
gift with most indomitable pains-taking 
and perseyerance. He began very early 
to commit the Scriptures to memory, and 
he kept up the habit, daily adding to the 
.store new treasures of the diyine word. 



30 JN MEMOBIAM. 

The Bible ntly by him when 

he \ his \v<»rk. and I matches 

made a grand year in 

and out found him al the delightful \ 

toring up " the words which th 
< rhost teacheth." I [e had a divine i 
ish for tli< i k ; they were -v 

unto his taste, i [e read them aloud, and 

jated them aloud. and 

almost every hour. II< j had, with his 
fine voice, a \rry im] r in 

reading and r _. His Iped 

memory 

in the I 
in Isaiah, as touched by hi . would 

come out with a melody and How. like 
the sublime strains of rs in 

music. I remember his reading the - 
enty-eighth Psalm on one i me 

of those passages, as rendered by Iiini in 
his deliberate and ii manner, 

had a sustained stateliness like Old Hun- 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 31 

clred. He loved to hear his own voice, 
as it caught and gave forth those words 
of spirit and life. He did not trip with 
his tongue. The small words were not 
shirred over. The words were given out 
from his lips "as beautiful coins newly 
issued from the mint, deeply and ac- 
curately impressed, perfectly finished, 
neatly struck by the proper organs, dis- 
tinct, in due succession and of due 
weight.*' "The meaning of the Bible is 
the Bible ;" and if any other voice has, 
by its tones and modulations, brought 
out that meaning with more impressive 
effect, the instance is not within my rec- 
ollection. 

But what seemed to me most of all 
wonderful about my father's memory 
was, that he could still, with ease as 
aforetime, commit Bible language to 
memory at the great age of ninety-five 
years. From about that time, owina 1 to 



32 IN MEMOBIAM. 

weakness of eyes, he ceased to com- 
mit regularly and in course. In th 
more formal efforts — acquiring by entire 
books — he left off with the fifteenth 
chapter of John's Gospel. Then he 
began to live on his income ; and it 
was ample, and perfectly at command. 
He had mastered whole books of tin* Bi- 
ble — just the words, and without mis- 
take; no new words added ; no old omit- 
ted. You hadn't got the ?erse, unl 
you could repeat it right off, without 
missing one word, great or small. I 
question if a living man ever heard him 
attempt to give a verse for mbst< 
He gave the verse, or lie let it alone. It 
would have tried his patience to hear 
one repeat Bible words blunderingly. 
Correctness here was part and proof of 
his reverence for the living oracles. He 
was for a long time superintendent of the 
Sabbath-school, an institution which he 



DEACOX WALTEK COLTOX. 33 

highly prized : and in his deliberate judg- 
ment, the best part in sabbath-school in- 
struction is this very exercise — repeat- 
ing accurately, word for word, some por- 
tion of Holy Writ. He remembered, be- 
cause he read with close attention, mark- 
ing carefully the sense, and often ex- 
pressing that sense in language of his 
own. He was wont to note down with 
pen or pencil the thoughts which had 
occurred to him on reading particular 
passages. Some of these jottings are 
quite original and striking. A few such 
scraps were left by him in his large quar- 
to Bible, and are choicely treasured. 

My father was a general reader. While 
the Bible was the book, he read much 
else. He read works illustrating: the 
Scriptures. "Hunter's Sacred Biogra- 
phy" was a favorite. Volumes of ser- 
mons by Dr. Strong of Hartford, and Dr. 
Lathrop of West Springfield, were among 



34 IN MEMOKIAM. 

his chosen. He read commentaries and 
practical notes, but preferred the text. 
He kept himself abreast with the times. 
The newspaper had its place and pro- 
portion. The religious paper, which he 
read most, was deemed rather pro-slavery 
by some, but he had no complacency in 
the system. He greatly rejoiced at the 
abolition of slavery in the District of 
Columbia as "the entering wedge.' 7 The 
darkest time in our late war was in the 
spring of 1863, the year of his death. 
But he was persistently hopeful for the 
issue, since right is right, and God is 
right, He loved and repeated Dr. "Watts' 
familiar lines, 

■ "The Lord can clear the darkest skies, 
And give us day for night." 

He was to the last as free from the 
infirmity common to aged people, which 
locates in the past all the good that was 
ever to bless the race, as was any one of 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 35 

his children. He was as heartily in 
sympathy as were they, with all the great 
moral and religious movements of the 
present time. He was blessed with a 
green old age. His bow abode in strength. 
His spirits were never soured, and never 
flagged. He lived in Sunny Side, and 
in sight of the Delectable Mountains. I 
have never known a happier man. 

And as he read other things besides 
the Bible, so he stored his memory with 
their treasures. Once a week, till near 
the close of his life, he repeated the As- 
sembly's Shorter Catechism, asking and 
answering the questions, without book 
and without mistake. On one occasion, 
late in life, his pastor asked him to offer 
a few remarks in a church meeting. 
Father arose, and said he felt rather 
empty, but he could repeat a letter which 
John Elliot once wrote to his brother, 
and which he had learned in early life. 



36 IN MEMORIAM. 

He then began, and repeated that entire 
letter, a long one, and rich in thought ; 
repeated it, probably, without missing 
one word. He had other things equally 
well stored away, and ready for use. 
He had committed to memory seven 
hundred psalms and hymns, which were 
always at his command. He used to 
say that the memory — wonderful pow- 
er — would carry the greater burden the 
more it was exercised ; that it is like a 
friend that loves to be trusted ; therefore 
lay the loads upon it without stint or fear. 
Any sketch of my father must be very 
defective, which should not make express 
mention of his musical talent. In this 
he was gifted in rare degree. I am safe 
in saying, that in sensitiveness to har- 
monies in music, the equal of him could 
scarcely be found among millions of men. 
For this he was widely known. Traces 
and traditions of it, in his childhood and 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 37 

youth, are still to be met with in his 
native Longmeadow. When a child of 
only eight years, he stood in the choir 
by his mother and sang "counter." 
And he remained constantly in the choir 
from eight till nearly eighty, and was 
even then released only at his own urgent 
request. It was the place for him; and 
I am persuaded that not many of "the 
chief singers' 7 — the Asaphs and Jedu- 
thuns — have done more than he for the 
"service of song in the house of the 
Lord." Music was a sentiment with 
him ; was a sense ; was a soul ; was a 
world. The very sounds themselves, 
in certain relations and combinations, 
seized and swayed for the time his ev- 
ery capacity of thought and feeling. 
Those relations, third, fifth, tenth, etc., 
his quick ear recognized instantly ; and 
those sounds, striking the inner ear, 
would keep vibrating there for months 



38 IN MEMOKIAM. 

and years. The power over him was 
wonderful. It was a charm and an en- 
chantment, where the strains were sweet ; 
and he drank in the sounds as one in an 
ecstac}^ or trance — caught up, and not 
knowing whether he was in the body or 
out of it. You could see him sitting 
meek and quiet, with head prone and 
eyes closed and hand upon his face, 
while his soul, abstracted and absorbed, 
was in a perfect rhapsody and revel. 
At such a time he appeared as one com- 
pletely overcome. 

He loved song, the sound and senti- 
ment together. He loved the hymns, 
the poetry and versification, specially 
Dr. Watts 7 , as is evident from his com- 
mitting so many of them to memory. 
But he loved musical sounds simply. A 
human voice, of male or female, in sim- 
ple melody — a voice clear, full, smooth, 
mellow, rich — was charming to him. 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 30 

But he was far more captivated by har- 
monies, many parts combined. Instru- 
mental also — " sound of the cornet, flute, 
harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer, and 
all kinds of music.' 7 The bass-viol and 
the violin were no scandal to him, and 
troubled him with no unpleasant associ- 
tions. "To the pure ail things are pure.' 7 
You might say to him that music was 
nothing without the words. He would 
not judge you, but he felt differently; 
and if you pressed the point, his silent 
answer would likely be, ''You cannot 
understand this matter." A time for 
every purpose, and to him a time for 
the ravishment and transport of sweet 
musical sounds. Was it peculiar organ- 
ism, nerves, tympanum, instinct, sensu- 
ousness, and without moral quality? 
Granted. But he was so made, so strung 
and tuned ; and to every thing there is 
a season. Words were well in their 



40 IN MEMOBIAM. 

time and place. No doubt of that; but 
there were times when music alone, and 
for its own sake, was an indescribable 
charm to his ear and heart. In some 
sucli times words, any words, were to 
him hut an obtrusion, an impertinei 
" right in the way" as I have heard him 
express it. II' any one should inter from 
this that my father was deficient in keen 
sensibility to excellence in our hymns, 
I can only say. that such an inference 
would be wide as possible of the actual 
fact. My father's music was a talent. 
was five talents, which he well employed. 
It lent help for the church's edification 
and comfort. It aided to kindle the calm 
and heavenly frame in the little circles 
where Christians met to praise and pray. 
It praised God in his sanctuary, and in 
the great congregation. But its chief 
charms were around the domestic hearth ; 
to make him happy in his children, and 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. -41 

to make them happy in their father : to 
make them love one another ; to restrain, 
to refine, and ennoble souls thus knit 
together : and to bind all. by a thousand 
sacred associations, to the old dear home. 
Oh. those memories! How they come 
thronging back upon ns. Those family 
singings we had — bright landmarks, 
green spots, oases. 

l *How dear to my heart are the scenes of ray childhood. 
When fond recollection presents them to view." 

And some of those old harmonies, sweet, 
plaintive, grand, and sonl-stirring — Maj- 
esty. Lenox. Greenwich. Exhortation. 
Brookfield. "Windham, and many oth- 
ers — snng with almost seraphic raptures 
by the fathers and mothers in long time 
ago. When my father was a child, those 
old "fngneing times." so called, had blos- 
somed, and were in full glory. He could 
sing them, and he taught them to his 
children. Other days have come, and 



42 IN MEMOBIAM. 

other scenes ; but fond meftiory, " with 
miser care," still clings to the dear de- 
lights of the olden time. Tin* old b 
viol of my father a sort of family heir- 
loom and ensign armorial, on which my 
young eyes were wonl to gaze with a 
wonder and awe, as if ii had been the ark 
of the covenant has fallen i<> me, and I 
have it by me in my own Afassachufi 
home : and now and then, with its mi 
power, my children aiding, I try, as best 
I can. to wake again the echoes of th 
ancient strains. And it should here !><' 
added, that it was just like my father not 
to let his love for old harmony hinder his 
relish for the new. When a student in 
Andover seminary. I carried to him Dr. 
Lowell Mason's " Boston Academy of 
Music." My father was delighted with 
it. He said that some of its times, new 
to him, were as sweet a§ any thing he 
had ever heard. 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 43 

In this connection^ I may be indulged 
in a word respecting my father's govern- 
ment of his family. Here he was, I have 
ever thought, a model of excellence. 
Like Abraham, he commanded his chil- 
dren and his household after him. There 
were law and authority. There was the 
rod, applied seldom and judiciously, but 
thoroughly. There were few words, but 
we well understood. If there was the 
old covenant, there was also enough of 
the new to soften any seeming asperi- 
ties. There may have been sternness 
and reserve, but there was also gentle- 
ness. We had reverence and fear, and 
stood in awe of him. And yet we loved 
him, and could n't help it. Rare combi- 
nation of firmness and kindliness — of se- 
verity and goodness. He was cautious 
and slow in making up his mind ; but 
when it was once made up and declared, 
that was the end of all words with him 



i I 

'it thai matter. I never knew ;i child 
of lii- hang about Bim ! tl of 

cision \\ hich he had on 
We knew better. 1 1 e mind. 

It w.i- no! ;i Bollen 

obstinacy nothin I ; ii- ; bul it 

was firmness I t nnbending ; and 

it only remained for us to submit and 
obej . I 

incompatible qualities, m the 

fad and the ii Th< n i ..:■;. h 

in the discipline, bat tb 

was in it nothing lib 

equable, 

erful, though nol given to many 
words. There was ad sou that 

needed s\i eetening. I have ever tho 
that, in his training father dern ed 

:i aid from music. It contributed to 
aflfectionateness and cheerfulness. It 
vras " an excellent oil :" and the u ran- 
ting," when it came, did no1 u break the 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 45 

bones." " Correct thy son. and he shall 
give thee rest ; yea. he shall give delight 
unto thy soul/ 5 

The children of Deacon Colton have 
no goodness to boast of. But the cove- 
nant-keeping One has dealt kindly by 
them : has faithfully kept the word of 
his covenant with them ; and under Him, 
of whom arc all thing-, they owe much 
to the wise counsels and corrections, the 
prayers of faith, and the bright example 
of a godly lather and mother. Eleven 
children — nine sons and two daughters — 
all spared to mature years; all of them 
married and settled in life; all com- 
fortably provided Tor ; not one a 
drunkard, or a profane swearer, or a 
prodigal : not one ever convicted or 
even tried before any court for any 
crime ; and all of them professing the 
faith in which their revered parents 
lived and have died. "A good man 



46 IN MEMOEIAM. 

leaveth an inheritance to his children's 
children." 

In his long and busy life, my father 
laid up no stores of worldly goods ; but 
he was tenderly cared for in his old age 
and decline. Called to part with his be- 
loved wife, who died in 1843, the last 
nineteen years of his life were spent with 
his daughter and son-in-law, in the same 
town which had so long been his home. 
The hospitable family to which he was 
welcomed, and those filial assiduities 
shown him with unwearying and cheer- 
ful constancy — I am greatly tempted to 
utter my own mind, and tell, what has 
many times been told me by my father, 
respecting the daughter whose gentle 
ministrations he valued so highly : k ' She 
has been to me every thing I could wish 
from a child of mine. I do not mean to 
trust in an arm of flesh. I know not 
what I should do without her. I try to 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. 47 

keep my heart fixed on God. and to wait 
only on him." These, and many more 
such expressions, have I heard from my 
father's lips. To the last, and from the 
depths of his heart, he regarded the ar- 
rangement as signally providential. 

And here I will quote a few words 
from the pen of his pastor, Rev. G-. TV. 
Ranslow: "In person, Deacon Colton 
was of about the medium stature, straight 
and well formed, with features strongly 
marked, and an easy and graceful car- 
riage. He had great regard to the feel- 
ings and comfort of others — a most deli- 
cate sensibility. In the latter part of 
his life, his hearing became dull : so much 
so, that he could distinguish but little of 
the ordinary conversation of the family. 
Unless personally addressed, he never 
wished to have any sentence repeated for 
his benefit ; and when conversed with 
personally, he often expressed a fear of 



<18 IN MEMORIAM. 

wearying the patience of the speaker. 77 
He was to the last extremely reluctant 
to be in any way the occasion of trouble 
to any one. Not for him, if he could 
help it, should there be a single needless 
word, or step, or care. His sensitiveness 
on this point was very remarkable — a 
delicacy of feeling which none but those 
constantly about him could fully appre- 
ciate. ;; 

Mr. Ranslow then adds : " Deacon Col- 
ton exercised the office of deacon with 
commendable discretion and faithfulness ; 
always at his post, ready for every good 
work : counselling with his minister, and, 
if occasion required it, admonishing him, 
but never turning his influence against 
him. He headed no party in the church, 
and gave no countenance to plans and 
movements which gender strife and ill- 
will. I have ever looked upon him as a 
model deacon, and was never able to 



DEACON WALTEE COLTOX. 49 

discover in what respect, on the whole, 
the model could be improved." 

My father was eminently a peacema- 
ker. He well understood human nature 
and human motives. He read the heart 
with rare discernment. As has already 
been said, he had singular delicacy of 
feeling. He was frank, and often admin- 
istered reproof: but it was always "with 
grace, seasoned with salt :" with such 
godly sincerity, with such, meekness and 
gentleness in tone and manner, as served 
to win. instead of repelling. Hence his 
aid was much sought in settling; difficul- 
ties. "Deacon Colton can bring those 
brethren together, if anybody can." He 
made no enemies, and had none. He 
had his own religious belief and convic- 
tions, and maintained them frankly and 
steadfastly. But he also heeded well 
the injunctions, ''Let all your things be 
done with charity:" and. "If it be pos- 



50 IN MEMORIAM. 

sible, as much as lietli in you, live peace- 
ably with all men. 77 He discriminated 
accurately between the great essentials 
in religion, and things about which good 
men might agree to differ. It was a say- 
ing of his, that "non-essential things cause 
the greater part of our unhappiness." 

My father had a keen sense of the 
humorous in thought and expression. 
He might have been a wit, had he in- 
dulged an original vein. But this he 
regarded as a dangerous weapon, to be 
used cautiously, if at all. He instinct- 
ively shrank from giving the slightest 
pain. A sly touch of something ludi- 
crous, and a twinkle from his eye in- 
stantly showed that he saw the thing. 
And what he could take he could give j 
a flash, a beam, which you might catch, 
if you were sharp and quick enough. 
But there was no sting — no wounding. 
A pleasantry was better than a "cut." 



DEACON WALTER COLTOX. ."31 

For any thing like broad humor and the 
loud laugh he had little liking. Any 
thing like a rude thrust or a coarse jest 
I never heard from him. It wasn't in 
his nature, and it was still farther from 
his Christian principle. " Gentle unto 
all" was a rule with him, and he would 
not swerve from it. 

But I must draw these sketches to a 
close. 

How holily and unblamably he lived 
as a disciple of Christ ; how consistent 
and commendable the example he set ; 
how uniform he was. always abounding 
in the work of the Lord ; how well he 
filled the office of deacon, and how ac- 
ceptable he was in that office ; how his 
home was a home for Christian minis- 
ters : how he loved the Sabbath, and 
how strictly he kept it ; how he loved 
the sanctuary, and was never absent 
from it one Sabbath in forty years; how 



52 IN MEMOBIAM. 

temperate in all things, and how such 
temperance ministered to cheerfulness, 
to health and long life; how tenacious 
he was of his own religions views, "con- 
tending earnestly for the faith once de- 
livered to the saints,' 7 and at the same 
time, how catholic and charitable, ready 
and glad to hold fellowship with all who 
call on the Lord, both theirs and onrs : 
how patient and forgiving he was towards 
any who had injured him ; how he val- 
ued peace, and followed the things which 
make for peace, and things whereby one 
may edify another : how he forbore to 
use sharp weapons which were ready at 
his hand : what an Apollos he was. 
mighty in the Scriptures : what a place 
he filled in the service of sacred song : 
how well he ruled his own house ; how 
happy in his family : how esteemed as a 
neighbor ; how conscientiously he dis- 
charged his duty as a citizen at the polls ; 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 53 

how sympathizing towards the troubled 
and afflicted, visiting the sick, and pray- 
ing with them, and the bereaved, and 
speaking comfortably to them ; how faith- 
ful he was in reproof and rebuke, but 
with such wisdom and gentleness, giving 
none offence to any ; how calm and sub- 
missive he was in affliction — sorrowing 
indeed, but kissing a Father's chastening 
rod ; how lively the interest he took in the 
common affairs of this life , yet how he kept 
himself unspotted from the world ; how 
even the tenor of his way, gently gliding 
down the stream of life, " looking for 
that blessed hope ;" how, in his decline, 
his children and their children rose up 
to do him reverence, and gladly minis- 
tered to his necessities ; how calm and 
clear the afternoon of his life ; how serene 
and tranqui; " the coming on of grateful 
evening mild ; ;; and how his sun went 
down without a cloud — 



54 IN MEMOKIAM. 

' '- Set as sets the morning star, 
Which goes not down behind the darkened west, 
Nor hides obscared among the tempests of the skies, 
But melts away into the light of heaven." 

His end peace, and his rest glorious. 

He died as lie had liyed, in the pre- 
cious faith of Jesus — soothed, sustained, 
borne upward as on eagles' wings, bright- 
minded to the last, and with no more 
fear of death— the first or the second — 
than of sinking into a common slumber. 
He breathed his last at the house of his 
son-in-law, Dr. H. P. Blair, in Georgia, 
on Monday morning, April 28, 186$,* 
aged 98 years lacking four months. Two 
years and a little more, and it would 
have been 100. Why not the 100? 
"The number of his months is with 
Thee ; lliou hast appointed his bounds 
that he cannot pass. 77 The tent was 
easily struck. He scarcely had disease 
or pain. The clock-weights touched bot- 
tom, and it stopped. On the day previ- 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 55 

ous, the Sabbath, he expressed his per- 
suasion that this would prove to be his 
last Sabbath upon the earth ; and the 
thought was grateful and gladdening to 
him. He had often expressed fear of en- 
countering the last enemy ; but when he 
came upon the field of conflict, he found 
no enemy there. That enemy had long 
before been met and vanquished. For 
sixty years he had "died daily.' 7 His 
triumphant close of such a course was a 
great event in our family circle — more 
honorable than if he had been crowned 
a king. He had received the crown of 
glory which fadeth not away. He was 
already among the shining ones, 

''With vials full of odors sweet, 
And harps of sweeter sound." 

I judge that my father must rank among 
the best singers in heaven. 

Summoned by telegraph, I reached 
my native home on the day after his 



56 IN MEMORIAL. 

death. I was greatly struck on seeing 
Ms remains. The face and features so 
soft and smooth and fair, and looking so 
young, as if he had not been more than 
seventy. Perhaps it was a promise that 
the body should soon rise to immortal 
bloom and vigor. Perhaps it was a sign 
that the spiritual part had already put 
on immortality. 

The funeral was at the church on 
Wednesday. The day itself was most 
auspicious. Tuesday was a fitful April 
day ; Thursday, was dark and stormy ; 
but Wednesday was glorious. A large 
assembly testified, by their coming to- 
gether, their love and reverence for 
departed worth. Eev. C. C. Torrey, act- 
ing pastor of the church, conducted the 
funeral services, assisted by Eev. Alvah 
Sabin, for many years pastor of the Bap- 
tist church in Georgia. An appropriate 
discourse by Mr. Torrey was from the 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 57 

text. Rev. 14:13. In opening the so- 
lemnities, he gave out the 146th Psalm. 
l. p. m., remarking as he clicl so, that this 
was a favorite psalm with the deceased, 
and would doubtless be remembered by 
some who were present, as having been 
often given out by him in former days, 
when it fell to him to conduct the servi- 
ces in the absence of a minister. Then 
the preacher struck the familiar words, 

'•'I'll praise my Maker with my breath; 
And when my voice is lost in death. 

Praise shall employ my nobler powers. 
My days of praise shall ne'er be past, 
While life, and thought, and being last. 

Or immortality endures." 

Then the singing of this psalm by the 
choir; the same choir — for here succes- 
sion is identity — of which for half a cen- 
tury the deceased had been a leader. 
The effect of those strains on that assem- 
bly can well be imagined. To me they 
were quite overpowering. It seemed as 



58 IX MEMOKIAM. 

if father, though dead, was still speaking 
to us — was singing to ns from the heav- 
enly choir. 

We then, "decently and in order." 
took up the precious remains, and con- 
veyed them to the burial-ground. It 
was the last day of April. The snow 
had disappeared. "The time of the 
singing of birds was come. 73 The air 
was balmy. The declining sun shone 
clear and warm. In the previous win- 
ter months, amid the hoarse moaning of 

the winds and the drifting: of the -news. 

_ 

father had expressed the wish that, if 
consistent with the Divine will, he might 
he laid down to his rest in some sunny 
time, and not when the cold snow was 

upon the ground. On the Thursday 
previous to his death, calling his daugh- 
ter to his side, he reminded her of the 
wish he had expressed some months 
since ; said he desired to take back that. 



DEACON WALTER COLTON. 59 

and any similar expressions of personal 
preference; and then added: U I have 
given myself understanding^ into the 
hands of God ; with all the circumstances 
of my death and burial. 7 ' He had his 
wish, though he had revoked it ; perhaps 
because he had revoked it. Those wishes 
which are surrendered most heartily are 
most apt to be answered — that God's will, 
not ours, may be done. It was a calm, 
sweet hour towards evening of that beau- 
tiful day, when we committed the pre- 
cious remains of our father to their final 
resting-place beside those of our dear 
mother, who, nineteen years before, had 
gone to glory. We came away from that 
hallowed spot, our hearts throbbing with 
varied emotions ; sorrowing that we 
should see his face no more ; glad and 
grateful that we had Jiad such a father, 
and that he had been spared to us so 
long; and rejoicing in hope — "for we 



60 IN MEMOKIAM. 

know that if our earthly house of this 
tabernacle were dissolved, we have a 
building of Grod, a house not made with 
hands, eternal in the heavens. 77 



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